


The Crabtree Girls

by zivaballerina



Category: Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-04-13 12:51:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4522740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zivaballerina/pseuds/zivaballerina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The union between George Crabtree and Emily Grace produces six little girls. They wouldn't have it any other way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

George Crabtree supposed that his lot in life was to always be the lone male in a gaggle of women, but to this he had no opposition. The ladies of his world had always been generous, loving, and intelligent, and as a result, George was a warm and kind man.

To him, there was no equal in the world to Dr. Emily Grace, who challenged and mystified him, but also comforted and needed him. He considered their marriage the best and the luckiest thing that had ever happened to him—until she bore him six little daughters: Sophia Emily, Grace Victoria, Georgina Celine, Adeline Wilhelmina, Charlotte Alicia, and Evelyn Julia.

The Crabtree girls were all small in stature, with dark hair and bright green eyes, and all had sweet, gentle dispositions. They were giggly, but ultimately sensible, reliable, and intelligent. Like their father, they were occasionally prone to flights of fancy, and like their mother, they were often stubborn and strong-willed.  
In his daughters, George saw every quality that he so endeared in his wife, and so he could not have been more enchanted by them. They kissed his cheek at breakfast and at bedtime, and each day raced each other down the hall to be the first to greet him when he arrived home from work. His favorite part of the day was after dinner, when each girl would take her turn sitting on his knee to tell him all about their day.

A younger Emily Grace would have been absolutely horrified to know that she would bear six children, but that Emily Grace did not know what it was to love a daughter—or what it was to watch her husband love their daughters. In their mother, the girls had their first and closest friend. They told her their secrets, asked her for advice, teased and laughed with her, and went to her for a warm lap, kind words, and a soft hand to pet their hair.

In the earlier days, Emily despaired that she had not given George a son. In reply, he kissed her hair and laughed lightly.

“Who wants boys? I’d rather have a hundred girls!”


	2. Chapter 2

“George.”

One night, a little more than a month after their wedding, Emily nudged her husband, who was asleep on her chest.

“George.” She pushed him harder. “George, get off of me _immediately_.”

She pulled herself out from under him, running to the water closet, making it just in time to be sick. George awoke quickly at the sound, rushing to her side.

“Emily!” he exclaimed, dropping down next to her and rubbing her back. “What could make you so ill this quickly? Should I call for the doctor?”

“No, no.” She shook her head. “This just confirms my suspicions. George, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Are you sick?”

“Not really. George, I’m going to have a baby.”

“What?” His face was overtaken by a huge grin. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Emily…” He wrapped her in his arms, holding her tightly to his chest. “Oh, Emily, this is wonderful!” His eyes glassed over with tears, and he kissed the top of her head.

“George, I am so very glad that you are so happy, but I must ask that you let go of me. I’m going to be sick again.”

 

* * *

 

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Emily nodded to the detective and turned on her heel to leave, and George put a hand lightly on the small of her back, leaning in to whisper to her.

“Do you need me to walk you back to the morgue?”

“Thank you, George, but I can manage.”

Once she was out of sight, Brackenreid clapped the constable on the shoulder.

“I’d like to offer you and the doctor my sincerest congratulations, Crabtree.”

George smiled. “How did you know, Inspector?”

“I treated Margaret like she was made of glass both times. About drove her mad.”

 

* * *

 

“How is your morning so far, Dr. Grace?” George asked with his crooked smile, walking into the morgue and pecking his wife on the lips.

She rubbed her growing stomach. “Do you know how hard it is to perform an autopsy with _this_?” She blew a strand of hair out of her face with an exasperated puff of air. “Furthermore, _your child_ has been kicking like a maniac for _hours._ Feel.”

She pulled his hand to her stomach, and couldn’t help but smile softly as his face absolutely lit up as the baby inside kicked at his hand. He bent down so that he was eye-level with her waist.

“Hey there, little one. Why don’t you give your mama a bit of a break today, huh?”

 

* * *

 

Sophia Emily Crabtree was born early on a foggy September morning, red-faced and loudly announcing her arrival into the world.

George had broken all rules of polite society (and offended the midwife) by demanding to be present, as he could not last more than an hour pacing in the hallway, where he could hear his wife’s cries of pain. Instead, he was next to her, holding her hand when she delivered (this would repeat itself the next five times as well).

Sophia was small, but pronounced healthy when she was placed into her mother’s arms—George’s eyes were too filled with happy tears to see clearly. With one finger, he gently caressed the baby’s cheek, then kissed his wife.

“You’re incredible, Emily.”

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

“She’s perfect.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

            “Named after her mother, is she?”

            “Well,” George explained, “I figured that men name sons after themselves all the time. It seemed only fair.”

* * *

 

            “What do you think, Inspector?”

            “She’s beautiful, Crabtree.”

            Sophia started to fuss, and George reached for her.

            “Here, I’ll—”

            “No, no.” Brackenreid bounced the newborn in his arms, and she quieted. “I know a thing or two about babies.”

 

* * *

 

            “You look exhausted, George.”

            “Of course I’m exhausted, Henry! I have a newborn at home!” He smiled. “And she is worth every moment of fatigue.”

 

* * *

 

            “We were wondering if,” George stumbled, “I mean, we’d be honored if—”

            Emily put a quieting hand on his arm.

            “Would you two like to be Sophia’s godparents?”

            Julia looked like she might cry, and Murdoch smiled broadly.

            “It would be our absolute privilege.”

 

* * *

 

            “Babababababa,” Sophia babbled, George holding her in his lap.

            “Dada,” he insisted, pointing at himself. “ _Dada._ ”

            “Babababa.”

            “What are you two talking about?” Emily asked, walking into the room.

            “I am trying to get her to say ‘dada’.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “ _Dada_.”

            “Bababa.”

            “I give up.”

            “Here, it’s time for her to eat anyway.” She sat down next to him and took the baby. “Don’t worry, George. She’ll say it one day soon, won’t you?” She kissed the baby’s head.

            “Mamamama,” Sophia smiled.

            Emily laughed loudly, and George clutched his heart in betrayal.

            “Sophia Emily Crabtree. I cannot believe you would do that to your own father,” he moaned.

            “Mamamama,” she babbled happily, and Emily began to unbutton her blouse.

            “Maybe she just knows who feeds her.”

 

* * *

 

            With a sigh, Emily leaned heavily back against the headboard.

“How is that a person so tiny can be so exhausting?”

            George stared down at the baby, who had finally fallen asleep between them.

            “And so perfect.” He reached over and took his wife’s hand, bringing it to his lips. “We made this.”

 

* * *

 

            George took his constable’s cap off and placed it on the table inside the front door.

            “I’m home!”

            He was greeted by a happily babbling Sophia, rounding the corner in her mother’s arms. Emily kissed her husband and then handed the baby off, and George kissed her little head.

            “Dada!” she squeaked in excitement.

            “Emily! Did you hear that!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far, I’ve been writing this story chronologically, but, since it was just Christmas, please enjoy this random collection of Christmas drabbles set at various points in time. I hope you had a very merry Christmas!

George and Emily had planned to spend their first married Christmas with the aunts in Newfoundland, but, with Emily expecting, they were instead spending Christmas Eve under a blanket, sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace in their new home, hands curled around mugs of hot cocoa. The only light in the room came from the warm fire and the dancing candles on the large evergreen tree that George had chopped down himself.

            “I’m sorry, George,” Emily said, laying her head on his shoulder. “I know you were looking forward to going home.”

            “Oh, Emily,” he breathed, wrapping an arm around her. She nestled into him, and he leaned in to whisper in her ear. “This is home. _You_ are home.” He patted the tiny swell of her stomach. “You _two_ are home.” He pulled her into his lap, turning her face up to him so that he could kiss her gently. He pulled away, leaving their foreheads pressed together. “This is my favorite Christmas ever.”

 **\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

            Over Christmas dinner, George and Emily had gleefully announced that they were expecting a third little Crabtree, and so everyone was making use of after-dinner drinks to congratulate the couple.

            Brackenreid clapped George on the back with a grin. “Maybe this time, Crabtree, you’ll have a son!”

            A look of horror crossed George’s face. “Oh, no, sir. I certainly hope not.”

 **\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

            Adeline clutched at her breast, Emily surveyed the remnants of Christmas morning left on her living room floor. The three oldest Crabtree girls had long since abandoned their new toys in favor of tumbling around on the floor with their father, climbing on top of him with loud shrieks and giggles.

            Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and Emily began to expertly button her blouse with her free hand.

            “I’ll bet that’s Uncle William and Aunt Julia!”

            “I’ll get it!” George announced, making a show of slowly getting up from the floor. Gracie fastened herself around his neck, hanging down his back, Gigi wrapped herself around one of his legs, and Sophia took his hand.

            Murdoch and Julia laughed when George finally opened the door.

            “You seem to always be draped in daughters, detective,” Julia laughed.

            George grinned widely. “It’s the best.”

 **\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

            “Mama… Daddy…” Sophia whispered, peeking around their bedroom doorframe. They heard soft giggling from behind her, and she shushed her younger sisters.

            Emily smirked a little at her husband. “What is it, baby?”

            “It’s Christmas,” Sophia whispered, her face lighting up.

            “Is it?” George asked.

            Sophia sighed impatiently. “Yes, it is!”

            “Did Santa Claus come?” Gigi interrupted from behind Sophia, standing on her toes to peek into her parents’ bedroom, only the very top of her dark head visible.

            “I don’t know; were you good little girls?” Emily asked.

            “Yes we were!” Adeline squealed from somewhere in the crowd.

            “Of course you were, you’re the best little girls in the whole world!” George grinned.

            “Come here!” Emily told them, stretching her arms out to them.

            All six ran to the bed, Gracie handing little Evelyn to Emily; Gigi, Adeline, and Charlotte jumping on George; and Sophia and Gracie sitting delicately at their mother’s feet.

            “Can we go see our presents, _please_?” Adeline begged.

Her pleading soon turned to shrieks as George tickled the three in his lap, and Sophia and Gracie jumped up on the bed as George reached out to tickle them.

            “Mama!” Charlotte wailed, trying to wriggle out from between George and Gigi. “Mama, help!”

            Evelyn bouncing and laughing in her lap, Emily reached out, pulling Charlotte free. She pulled the little girl to her, covering her face in kisses.

            “Mama!” she squealed.

            “Daddy!” Evelyn shouted, trying to crawl across the bed to him.

            “Oh, you want some, too?” he asked, picking her up and tickling her middle.

            “Not the baby!” Gracie protested, and so he reached for her bare foot.

            “Oh, I suppose you think I should only tickle big girls?”

            “No!” she shrieked.

            “Presents!” Gigi insisted, out of breath.

            “Alright, alright,” George agreed. As he crawled out of bed, he put Adeline under one arm and Gigi under the other.

            “Daddy, let me get on your back!” Gracie asked, standing up on the bed. George turned around to allow her to climb on.

            Emily lifted Evelyn onto one hip and Charlotte onto the other, and Sophia crossed her arms sourly.

            “No one ever carries me anymore. I’m too big.”

            “Hey,” Emily scolded. “No bad attitudes on Christmas morning.” She leaned down to kiss her oldest on the head. “You can be the line leader, Soph. Take us to the presents!”

            “Do you think Santa liked the milk and cookies we left him?” Gigi chirped from underneath George’s arm as Sophia led the merry party down the stairs.

            Her question went unanswered as when they presents stacked underneath the large tree came into view, all of the girls struggled away from their parents and raced to the brightly colored packages with gleeful squeals.

           

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is born of a creative writing class prompt—I’m in a class centered on retellings (where else better to write fic!) and this week revolved around history. Drawing inspiration from Enlightened Skye on fanfic.net (really the only other AU George/Emily writer—seriously, if you haven’t read her work, do that now!), who wrote a lovely piece about the advent of WWI, I decided to write my own take on that event in the lives of the Crabtrees. This may be the only time that my work is more melancholy than hers.

_August 4, 1914._          

* * *

 

“Emily!” Her husband was out of breath as he entered the morgue, his hat wrinkled in a white-knuckled hand.

“George?” she asked, hurrying out of her office, worried that his agitation meant that something had happened—god forbid—to one of their daughters.

George caught her by the elbows, his face drawn. “Britain declared war on Germany,” he stated, a tense finality in his words.

“Oh,” she whispered, suddenly feeling somewhat lightheaded. “This means that… that Canada will go to war.”

“Everyone expects that it will be official tomorrow.”

She nodded, and he took in her pale face, her pinched lips, and creased forehead.

“Emily, sit down, please.” She let him lead her to a chair, and he knelt in front of her, taking her hands.

“George Crabtree,” she said, in the voice usually reserved for catching one of her daughters doing something naughty, “promise me that you won’t do anything stupid, like go away to war.”

“Emily—”

She shook her head. “No. I will not explain to our daughters that their father is off somewhere on the other side of the world getting shot at or blown up. I will not sleep by myself every night. I will not…” she paused, collecting herself. “I will not lose you.”

He put a hand on each side of her face, stroking her soft cheek with his thumb. “You know I can’t make any promises.”

She nodded slowly. “I know.”

“We’ll have to tell the girls,” he said. “We’ll have to be brave for them.”

* * *

 

They sat four dark-haired little girls in front of the fireplace, one squirming toddler on George’s lap, and tucked one cooing baby into the crook of Emily’s arm.

“Are we getting a new baby sister?” Gigi asked, and Emily couldn’t help but smile at her third daughter—this was usually the set up when they announced the impending arrival of another Crabtree, which, while always a delightful occasion, was one that the girls were quite used to.

Emily’s smile disappeared as she noticed how solemn George was, and the older girls seemed to catch on that something serious was happening. They stopped fidgeting and playing with their dress hems, and instead looked up at their father with green, anxious eyes. Emily had half a mind to stop him before he even began, hardly unable to stomach the thought of their daughters, so young and innocent, exposed to this kind of news. She didn’t want any of them worrying their sweet, pretty heads a single moment.

But war was upon them, and all little girls must grow up sometime.

They sat and listened with rapt attention, soaking in their father’s explanation of what some bad men in Germany were doing, and how an Archduke had been killed somewhere far away, and how Britain had to fight the bad men, which meant that Canada would have to as well. Even Charlotte sat still, the edge in her father’s voice quieting the two-year-old. The girls didn’t interrupt at all, which was an unusual feat for the usual chatty, giggling group.

“Do you have any questions?” Emily asked as George ended his explanation, searching four sets of wide eyes. She was grateful that Charlotte and Evelyn were spared from understanding this news—at least she could still protect them.

Sophia, doing her duty as the eldest, spoke first. “Will the bad men come here?”

George let out a strangled noise, guilt that he hadn’t started by making them feel completely safe clawing at his chest. “No, no, no. Nothing will happen to us here. Nothing will happen to you, do you understand me? Everything is going to be okay.”

“Daddy catch the bad men?” Adeline asked, and fear gripped at Emily’s throat. Would there come a day when her husband was asked to leave his family and fight overseas?

“No,” he answered. “Daddy catches the bad men in Toronto. These bad men are far away.”

The tension in the girls began to ease up. If the bad men weren’t coming here, then why should they be afraid? Only the worry so deeply etched in their parents’ faces troubled them.

Gracie was the one to voice this, looking from one parent to another. “Why are you scared?”

“Because, even when it’s far away, war is scary,” George explained. “But it’s something for grown-ups to worry about, not for good little girls. We just wanted you to know.”

Each girl made their customary turns hugging and kissing each parent, who hugged them a little tighter and kissed their hair a few more times than usual that night, and many of the nights that followed.

 


End file.
